"Corin, please..."
He smiled against her throat, slow and knowing. "Say my name again."
"Corin."
His hand slid down, down, fingers trailing fire across her stomach, lower still until...
She woke gasping.
The cottage was dark. Cold. The stove had burned low while she slept, and she lay tangled in her sheets with her heart pounding and her skin flushed and an ache between her thighs that made her squeeze them together against the emptiness.
Just a dream.
She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow. Her body hummed with unspent need, slick and wanting and utterly inconvenient.
She hadn't dreamed like that in years. Hadn't wanted like that in longer.
Corin Vane, with his patient hands and his quiet voice and his complete lack of interest in her.
She was an idiot.
Chloe threw off the covers and stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face until the heat faded from her cheeks. Her reflection stared back at her in the dim mirror, green eyes too bright, lips still parted.
She looked like a woman who'd been kissed. Who had done more than kiss. She was jealous of that version.
"Get it together," she muttered to herself. "You’ve just been in a long dry spell, that’s all. He's just being nice. Pull it together."
She went back to bed after her unsuccessful pep talk, but sleep was a long time coming.
And when it finally did, she dreamed of honey again.
8
CORIN
It had been Corin's idea to make it daily.
He'd called her the morning after their first session in the orchard, the words tumbling out before he could second-guess them. Waiting for the thaw to check the well could take weeks. In the meantime, things were getting worse. It made sense to compare notes every day, track the progression, see if they could find a pattern.
That was the reasoning he'd given her. It wasn't entirely a lie.
Now, three days into their arrangement, Chloe stood beside him at the apiaries with her notebook in hand and a furrow between her brows that had become familiar. She'd started keeping detailed records. Soil samples, plant observations, weather conditions. She was thorough in a way that reminded him of himself.
"This one's worse than yesterday," she said, peering into the hive he'd just opened.
Corin looked. She was right. The bees were more scattered than before, some crawling aimlessly on the inner cover, others clustered in strange formations that had absolutely nothing todo with protecting the queen. He'd never seen behavior like this in healthy colonies.
"That's the second one this week."
Chloe's expression tightened. She stepped back, hugging her notebook to her chest. "Corin, I need to tell you something."
He replaced the cover and straightened, giving her his full attention. "Alright."
"My starts at Freya's are getting worse too. The ones I planted last month are almost dead now." She wouldn't meet his eyes. "And the comfrey I transplanted near the east fence is completely gone."
"I know. You mentioned it."
"I know, but..." She trailed off, then seemed to force herself to continue. "People are talking. They think my blood is doing this. That whatever I am is poisoning the land."
